


Sleeping Satellites

by marmorashadows (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, LARPing, M/M, Matt gives shit advice, Mutual Pining, Nerd Shiro, Thunderstorm Darkness - Freeform, Trans Keith (Voltron), braces shiro, glasses Shiro, goth keith, his parents wont the lottery lmfao, keith has money, punk keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marmorashadows
Summary: Shiro is a nerd. Keith is a punk.Isn't it so very obvious?





	Sleeping Satellites

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Sa because Sa is the best
> 
> This is very gratuitous because I needed something wholesome in my life.

They were coming.

No time to think or attempt stealth – not with the enemy on their tail. Shiro crashed through bushes, sword in hand, trying to keep the group safe by taking up the read. The enemies on their tail, a pack of bloodthirsty orcs, surely would do anything to capture him dead or alive. He was the one they were after and Shiro refused to burden his group if he could stop the bloodshed himself. The blade glowed blue in warning, blessed by elven magick, the blade was a gift from the dead master he journeyed to avenge.

“Cast wind!” Pike yelled back at Blok who stood on top of a rock while the others passed under some low hanging trees. “Cast _something_!”

“Casting wind won’t work!” Blok screamed back, his voice tinged with panic. “Um, think, think– think…”

Shiro stopped and turned to face where the enemy came to judge how quickly they were running. The southwest wind was fluttering against Shiro’s face and the blade in his hand glowed persistently. They were running out of time.

“Go on without me,” Shiro said, turning to face his weary travel companions. “I will stave them off. Just _go_.”

“But Takashi, we _need_ you,” Mecklavar said firmly. “We can’t do this without you.”

“Mmm, I think we can,” Pike argued immediately.

“ _Pike_ ,” Mecklavar growled. “Shut up.”

Shiro raised his hand to stop them from going onward. “Please, my friends, you have risked your lives so greatly for mine and while I appreciate your kindness, it is time we part ways. They come for me, not you all. _Go_. Run to safety and journey another day.”

The group exchanged glances and Pike began to walk away but Mecklavar grabbed his tail, making him yelp. Blok slid down from the rock and held out his hand.

“Takashi Shirogane, you are our friend, and we do not abandon our friends,” Blok said firmly. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Warmth filled Shiro’s chest as they started to run again. They were close to safety but the enemy was gaining so quickly on them, Shiro feared they wouldn’t make it. If they could just reach the clearing, they would be in elven territory and be able to cross to safety. Just a few more–

“Look out!”

Shiro heard the warning but couldn’t react in time. The wire ran across the clearing edge and everyone else had managed to jump it but his foot caught just right and sent him flying forward onto the ground. He smacked his face hard into the mud and pain splintered across his face. Shiro groaned and lifted his head slowly, his vision blurred horribly, and he could feel blood running down his face.

“Time out!” Mecklavar screamed just in time for James Griffin to finally catch up and groan with frustration as he was kept from snatching Shiro’s flag.

“ _Now_ what?” James demanded, crossing his arms in annoyance.

“Shiro’s hurt,” Pidge said, quickly leaving character to come to check on him. She had discarded her helmet and foam ax, kneeling at his side to check his face.

“I’m fine,” Shiro insisted as he sat up further but his glasses were definitely missing and there was a lot of blood pouring onto his costume which he knew would probably never come out.

“You can’t call a timeout when he fell for the trap,” James argued sharply. He was currently the leader of the Galran tribe, their enemy players, and also a very sore loser.

“I can if someone is hurt, read rule 23 in the guidebook,” Pidge said coolly and pulled some tissue from a hidden pocket to dab Shiro’s nose while he tilted his head back to keep the blood from spilling further on his clothes. No one _really_ needed to appear as if they’d been in battle.

“Those rules aren’t even real,” James grumbled, tapping his foot on the ground.

“Keep it up, _Jimmy_ , and we’ll tell all of your loser friends you were here,” came Lance’s voice as he finally joined them. He’d recently joined their Monsters  & Mana LARP-ing group but had quickly found a rhythm amongst Pidge and Hunk. Shiro liked Lance. He was fun and eager to help. He _didn’t_ like the amount of flirting Lance seemed to be into, however, constantly bothering anyone with breasts.

“Don’t _call_ me that,” James snarled and his hands clenched into fists.

“No fighting when timeout is called,” Pidge reminded them but Lance seemed more amused than angry. James the upset one.

“As if anyone will even _believe_ you losers,” James spat back harshly which made everyone on his side chuckle and snort.

Shiro would have rolled his eyes if Pidge hadn’t been busy trying to stop his nose from bleeding. James was what Pidge and Hunk called a “closet nerd” – a usually considered cool guy who also secretly enjoyed nerd culture but wouldn’t admit it. James gave them more street cred. A cool, popular guy liking _Monsters & Mana _but if directly asked, he’d deny involvement.

In Shiro’s opinion, James cared too much what people thought of him.

“Whatever,” Lance said. “Is the game over? Because I need to shower before my class.”

Pidge removed the tissue from Shiro’s face and replaced it with another as the first was soaked through. “Yeah, call it off. We can pick up later.”

“ _Ugh_!” James stamped his foot but cleared out with his group, mumbling about cheating.

“Ignore him,” Pidge said. “Here are your glasses.”

Shiro felt blindly for the thick frames, holding them in hand until PIdge pulled a less sopping tissue from his face. He was prone to nosebleeds anyway so the amount of blood didn’t worry him too much.

“I think you’re good,” Pidge said.

“Shanks Kady,” Shiro said while pinching his nose to check if it were broken – a pain but nothing severe. Survivable and not broken.

PIdge smiled. “Welcome.”

Glasses secured, Shiro took Lance’s and Hunk’s offered hands to allow them to help him stand slowly. The world felt far away for a moment but after closing his eyes momentarily, his equilibrium returned.

“You okay?” Hunk asked while keeping his hand on Shiro’s back.

“Yeah, just a little woozy but I’m fine,” Shiro replied.

“Who’s up for pizza?” Pidge asked.

“Me!” Lance cried excitedly.

Everyone turned dubious looks on him but Hunk called him out flatly, “Thought you had to shower before class.”

“Uh– that was _before_ the offer of pizza was on the table. Duh,” Lance said while they reached base camp.

Their LARP-ing games took place in Garrison Park which was just a quarter mile from Garrison University. They usually walked to the park but with the nature of the campaign, Hunk had driven them so they didn’t have to walk back when they were too tired. Shiro usually was happy to be physically active but the nosebleed left him glad for Hunk’s minivan.

“So, change and meet at the quad?” Pidge asked and they all agreed. Shiro _definitely_ needed to change. “Okay, ten minutes.”

Hunk, Pidge, and Lance all lived in the same dorm building but Shiro lived behind the campus center near the gym in the upperclassmen student campus apartments so he had a longer walk. By the time he unlocked the apartment door, he was sweating profusely despite the weather finally approaching something similar to autumn. Halloween was only a few weeks away and the temperatures were just recently starting to drop.

Matt was playing video games when Shiro walked in. He raised a hand in greeting but then did a double take when he saw the state of Shiro’s costume. “Holy shit, what happened to you?” Matt asked, his jaw dropping. “Did James finally punch you? Because in case you hadn’t noticed, you could definitely take that tiny weasel.”

Shiro rolled his eyes but was too embarrassed to admit he was a walking human disaster. The cuff around his wrist beeped and Shiro shifted to press the button to release electronic pulses keeping his right arm loose. The data processor in the new model was smarter than his last monitor. When his arm became too stiff and rigid the monitor would recognize the change and beep as a reminder to use the machine.

Matt’s face filled with concern. The kind of look Shiro always received when explaining his chronic illness– the look of pity and worry he would drop dead at any given moment. Shiro hated the look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shiro said and started to remove pieces of his costume now ruined by blood.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m terminal and only have two months left,” he snapped. Sounding icy was not intentional but he expected more from Matt.

“Sorry,” Matt muttered. “I just get worried. Is your arm okay?”

“It’s fine.” Shiro stormed down the hall to his room to change out of his costume and take a quick shower. Despite telling Matt he was fine, Shior knew his arm would appreciate the hot water but he also knew the shower would make him late. He send a text to Pidge to let her know he couldn’t be at the quad in ten.

→ _Okay! Meet us @ the pizza place when you’re ready. No rush :)_

Shiro relaxed once he knew the group was okay with going on without him. Hot water acted as a massaging waterfall as it streamed from the showerhead. The heat stung his nose but the arm was more important– he did _not_ want to spend Friday night in the ER.

Post-shower, Shiro sat on the toilet, continuing to let the device stimulate his arm until he finally felt relaxed enough to dry off, dress, and go to the living room.

“Where are you going?” Matt asked.

“Pizza with the group. Do you want to come?”

Matt grinned. “Hell yeah.” He stood and slipped his feet into flip-flops which only made the cargo shorts and Gamma Epsilon Kappa shirt seem more ridiculous.

“You look like a frat douche,” Shiro said but Matt snorted and waved him off.

“At least I have a sense of style, not sure about you.”

Shiro’s face turned red as he glanced down at his khakis and polo shirt. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“You look like Steve from Blue’s Clues.”

“ _Shut up_ , I do not!” Shiro said even as his face reddened further. Blushing was something he did often and hated.

“Alright, big guy, let’s go. I’ll drive, don’t wanna walk in my flips. Got your inhaler?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” Shiro sighed.

“Bracelet monitor thing?”

He held up his arm. “Yes, Mom.”

“Lastly, do you have your Benadryl and Epipen?”

Routine questions and ones Shiro knew needed addressing but they were still tiring. He patted his pockets to double check he had everything before nodding in lame defeat. Chronic illness was bad on its own but to have further health problems on top of _that_? Sometimes, Shiro felt he was running a losing race with a blindfold and on one leg while everyone else had two legs and no blindfold.

He did everything he could to prove people wrong about what they _thought_ he could do. Doctors always telling him he’d never achieve his goals or peak physique – Shiro worked out until Matt told him he resembled Adonis, even if the comparison made him blush. He pushed every envelope and limit, breaking records in cross country, and track and field. He jogged five miles a day and pursued a degree to land him a job at NASA.

One day, Shiro knew he would see space firsthand.

“Alright, let’s roll,” Matt said and they went out to the parking lot where Matt’s old beamer sat like an eyesore for the entire world to witness.

Matt named the car Millenium Falcon, MF for short, which sometimes stood for something else entirely when it acted up. The hunk of junk was a hand-me-down from his late grandfather and Matt refused to spring for something new(ish). The seats even had beaded covers from when his grandfather had driven it years prior. The car smelled of Old Spice and age which did not sit well on Shiro’s stomach even on the short drive over to Slav’s Place.

“You look sick,” Matt commented when they headed for the front door.

“I’m fine,” Shiro insisted. Fresh air was already improving his mood. “Really.”  

Matt gave him a dubious look but they headed inside anyway. The group commandeered the back corner booth, chatting away when Shiro and Matt slid in on either end.

“Hey, Matt,” Hunk greeted. “Shiro, you feeling okay?”

“He’s fine,” Matt replied.

“Didn’t know your name was Shiro,” Pidge said but Shiro didn’t contest the reply. He was sick of the question anyway.

“Hey guys, you’re missing this,” Lance whispered, making them all turn their attention to the pinball machine in the corner. “James trying to _flirt_.”

Standing by the pinball machine was James Griffin looking annoyed but considering James’ general disposition, Shiro wasn’t surprised. THere was, however, someone else working the machine and even only seeing the guy in profile Shiro felt his heart stop.

The stranger, lithe and lean, worked the game like a pro and Shiro didn’t have to see his score to know it was good. He dressed in black from head to toe, his jeans hugging every thick inch of his strong thighs and calves, black t-shirt, a silver chain hanging from his back pocket, and a black baseball cap over his hair tied back in a ponytail. Shiro admired the silver earrings glittering all around his ear and large black plugs adorning his earlobes.

The room dimmed and for a moment Shiro thought nothing of it until he realized the lights weren’t dimming at all – no, his glasses were fogging. Shiro yanked the spectacles from his face to clean them on his shirt and noted everyone staring at him when they returned to his nose.

“What?”

“Short of you having a brain aneurysm, pretty sure you aren’t panting over Jimmy G,” Lance said with a smirk. “ _Meaning_ you’re into Keith.”

“Who’s Keith?” Pidge asked.

“New guy,” Lance replied. “Just transferred here, we have one class together. He’s the most intense person I’ve ever met.”

Shiro glanced shyly at Keith, who now stood smugly smirking at James. He must have beat James’ high score. “Keith,” he repeated softly. THe name was beautiful and masculine at once, much like its bearer. Keith had beauty and a rugged, masculine edge – a perfect dichotomy.

“He’s an art major,” Lance continued. “Drives a motorcycle and pretty sure he has money. Dude lives off campus and have you _seen_ his jeans? Designer.”

“Maybe he has a sugar daddy,” Matt joked and everyone groaned their disapproval.

“He’s…” Shiro whispered, trailing off.

“ _Way_ too cool for you,” Lance said. Pidge nudged him but he didn’t backtrack. “I’m being honest!”

“Lance is right,” Matt said which left Shiro’s ego further bruised. “Keith is the epitome of cool– like, wouldn’t even glance this way if the booth was on fire kind of cool, _but_ that doesn’t mean we can’t make Shiro cool.”

Shiro frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “How?” he asked

Matt reached to pluck the glasses off of Shiro’s face. “First things first, lose these.”

Shiro gasped as the world turned into a blob of color like a Pollock painting. “I can’t _see_ without my glasses,” he growled. Already, Matt’s plan was awful. 

“Get contacts,” Lance suggested.

“Contacts make my eyes swell shut,” he muttered in shame.

“Wow,” Lance whispered. “You really are a walking health hazard. My condolences.”

Shiro slumped in his seat, wishing his face wasn’t burning hotter than the sun. “So, I can’t wear glasses. What else?”

“Hmmm– don’t smile too much. Can’t hide the braces.”

Shiro sighed and reached up to touch his lips subconsciously. “Can I have my glasses back–.”

“No,” Matt said. “Also, don’t laugh.”

“What–  _why_?” Shiro demanded. “My laugh is fine.” He hoped.

Someone touched his hand, presumably Matt because he spoke next. “Shiro, you’re my best friend and roommate, so I say this with a lot of love: your laugh is loud and incredibly dorky. You snort.”

If his face became any hotter, Shiro figured he’d self-combust or they could start frying eggs. No glasses, smiling or laughing. Shiro wasn’t even sure how to flirt with he _could_ see, let alone when he was blinder than a drunk bat. The plan sounded like the road to disaster but Shiro recalled Keith’s outfit and smug confidence.

He was going to need all the help he could get.

The likelihood of Keith being into a nerd like him was lower than low and Shiro was desperate to at least gain the guy’s digits. He wanted Keith to like him and he wasn’t even sure _why_ , considering he didn’t even know Keith at all but Shiro was over the moon immediately. He’d read about love at first sight but had never believed in it until tonight.

“If he can’t see, can’t smile, can’t laugh, how is he supposed to _flirt_?” Pidge argued. “Don’t listen to Matt, Shiro, he’s a fucking idiot. Here.” She pressed his glasses back into his palm. “Just go say hi to him before the Weasel gets his claws into him.”

Shiro stammered a few times but he placed his glasses back on his face and watched Keith come back into focus. He was so _beautiful_ – the softest looking hair he’d ever seen and from this angle, Shiro could make out a scar along his cheek cutting from his jawline. The scar intrigued Shiro so he stood up and steeled himself to walk over but halfway over to Keith and James, Shiro felt his arm lock up and the feeling left him frozen to the spot because if he couldn’t move his right arm he would just look ridiculous.

A waitress cutting in front of him startled him backward and Shiro quickly fled back to the table to sit down. If chickening out of social situations involving cute guys were an Olympic sport he’d have a gold medal. He ignored everyone staring in favor of grabbing a slice of pizza.

“Shiro,” Lance said. “What are you doing?”

 

The pizza was extremely hot – the cheese and sauce immediately scorching the roof of his mouth. He wanted to spit it back out but suffered instead to save his friends the visual. Everyone’s eyes remained on him until he finally swallowed the deadly combination of lava cheese and burning sauce.

“My arm locked up,” he mumbled. The limb was still stiff as the machine pulsed through his muscles to try to make it work again.

Luckily, everyone accepted the answer and moved on. Shiro glanced back over to Keith, eyes roaming over how he now stood leaning against the machine to give James a turn. His handsome face rested in a smarmy smirk, as if he knew something no one else did. So much confidence. Shiro felt a bit envious.

The envy turned to disappointment when he saw James gesture to his score and Keith groaned with an exaggerated eye roll. James Griffin was the kind of guy Keith would date – cool, well-dressed, and clearly holding similar interests.

Shiro sighed and turned sad eyes on his half-eaten pizza.

“Hey, Shiro, we never said thanks earlier,” Hunk said.

Shiro glanced up shyly. “For what?”

“For being prepared to sacrifice yourself to the Galra tribe, that was _super_ cool,” Hunk continued with a smile.

“Yeah, it was really brave Shiro,” PIdge agreed. “You should have been there Matt…”

Pidge began to enthusiastically tell the campaign story with input from Hunk and Lance. Shiro remained silent, his gaze once more being pulled in by Keith’s orbit. He was back to reclaiming the high score, his brow furrowed in concentration. James looked halfway between distraught and impressed. The machine lit up when Keith finished and the smug look returned. James stared at the machine like he couldn’t believe the numbers and Keith finally returned to his booth to grab a sleep, black motorcycle helmet.

“Leaving?” he heard James ask.

“Have fun beating my score,” Keith said with the kind of attitude that said he _knew_ James couldn’t beat the highscore even if he tried.

Shiro watched Keith leave and almost followed until he remembered he was a loser with a locked arm. Cool guys like Keith _didn’t_ notice losers like him. A long sigh dropped Shiro’s shoulders as he had no choice but to let Keith escape into the night are. Grains of sand he would never be able to grasp.

“Hey, you okay?” Pidge asked when they were leaving.

Shiro plastered on a fake smile and nodded. “Great,” he said. “Never better.”

Lies tasted gritty on his tongue.   
  


* * *

 

James Griffin was, by far, the most annoying person in the entire world but knowing Takashi Shirogane was watching him wipe the floor with James’ pride was worth every painful second. After transferring to Garrison U. Keith had quickly noticed Shirogane’s presence on campus – it was difficult not to if he were honest. President of Gamma Epsilon Kappa, track and field star, top grades, honors program, and absolutely, one hundred percent _babe_.

 

The first time Keith had seen Shirogane on campus in person he’d walked into a street sign and spilled hot coffee all over his clothes. Hot coffee and artfully shredded jeans were _not_ a pleasant combination. 0/10. He did _not_ recommend.

 

He’d expected Shirogane to be _smaller_ but at 6’3”, Keith had felt his metaphorical panties drop. Combined with the dark hair, mercury gray eyes, square jawline, and biceps large enough to a kill a man, Shirogane was killer.

 

Plus, the glasses.

 

Keith was a total sucker for cute boys in glasses.

 

The clear tragedy came into play when Keith remembered he had zero chance of ever dating a guy like Shirogane. Einstein level brains deserved someone just as smart. Keith was an artist not a STEM brainiac. Besides, he’d heard on the grapevine Shirogane was dating some math whiz named Adam Grant.

The ride back to his apartment was quick with most people gone home for the evening. Cosmo, the giant, black, fluffy wolf-dog he’d brought across the country with him, was sleeping soundly when he came inside. Keith snorted at his _handy_ guard dog.

“You know, it’s good we live in a nice neighborhood, you lazy bum,” Keith muttered before going to the fridge to grab Cosmo’s dinner. THe sound of dinner, of course, drew Cosmo to the kitchen but Keith was still happy to dole out head scratches. He loved his dog more than anything in the world. Cosmo brought a bit of home to school and Keith appreciated him every single day.

Speaking of home, Keith checked the time – 8:38 p.m. – meaning his it was close to 6:00 in Arizona. His mom and dad were probably arguing about what they wanted to cook for dinner. Keith pulled up his phone to video chat even though his mother sometimes struggled with FaceTime.

She answered after a few rings, her purple and pink hair all askew, and Keith could see his dad in the kitchen over her shoulder. “Keith,” she said warmly. “Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?”

“It’s Friday night, Mom,” he argued with a snort.

“I’m not sure that refutes my question,” Krolia said.

“ _Hi_ , Mom, how are you?” Keith said to change the subject.

She narrowed her eyes, a look they both used often, before clearing her face to neutral. “Well, your father is making chilli on the new range–.”

“Oh, did you finally upgrade?” he asked excitedly and then quickly apologized for interrupting. He hadn’t been raised to be disrespectful.

Krolia smiled softly at his apology. “Yes, we did. It’s very nice.” She walked toward the stove where his dad waved and she gave him a small tour, showing him the buttons and fancy settings, the double oven, and grill top. It was definitely nicer than their old one.

“It’s awesome, Mom,” he said sincerely.

“Hey, Keith!” his dad greeted and Keith felt a string of loneliness tug on his heart. He couldn’t wait to go home in November.

“Hi, Dad. How’s the farm?”

“It’s good, son,” Tex said with a wink. “Misses you though.”

“Tex, Keith is being smart at school so he doesn’t have to live this life,” Krolia hissed.

“What’s wrong with the way we live?” Tex asked and Keith tried to interject but once they started, stopping his parents was next to impossible.

“Tex, I want _more_ for Keith. I want him to have money in the big city and his paintings in fancy museums. I don’t want him to work manual labor his whole life and then _maybe_ get money because he wins the lotto.”

“Nothin’ wrong with manual labor, Krols.”

“Don’t you _want_ more for our son, Tex?”

“Of course I do but I think trashin’ our lives just because we got a farm is–.”

“ _Mom_ , _Dad_ ,” Keith said sharply, making them both jump. He softened his voice and expression when they turned to him. “Look, I appreciate where you're’ coming from, but Mom, I don’t mind how I grew up. I know having money is new but lack of money didn’t ruin my childhood. I _like_ manual labor and knowing I can come home if this art thing doesn’t work out is a _huge_ comfort, believe me.”

Krolia pursed her lips but then Tex leaned in and kissed her cheek melting all of her resolve. “Alright, well, our dinner’s ready, Keith.”

Keith  nodded. “Good night,” he said and reluctantly ended the call.

Homesick.

He hadn’t been homesick since he first left but the East Coast was a strange place. Nothing like his desert playground. The cold weather – only going to become colder according to the forecast – the foliage, the _people_ , the rain, the cramped cities, and choked air. He longed for August nights on his roof, stargazing with his mom, in the summer heat.

Keith ached for home.

He walked to his room to strip down to his underwear and a tank top before curling up in bed. Cosmo joined him and Keith held on tight, his dreams plagued with deserts and eyes the color of desert storms.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://pining-sheith.tumblr.com/)


End file.
